The day she tried her hand at romance was life changing – in the best of ways. From scratching a living and writing in snatched moments she became an ‘overnight success’ and a wealthy woman.

The publisher who picked up her second romantic novel sent their publicist to see her. He came away dejected and at a loss as to what to do.

“She’s impossible,” he said to his boss. “Sixty something, plain as a pikestaff and cripplingly shy. She isn’t even photogenic.”

Which was how the man who illustrated the book jacket drew an idealised ‘portrait’ of the author too….

©️jj 2019

You can listen to this on YouTube.

It was a ‘click’ moment.
You know what I mean, we’ve all had a ‘click’ moment. A moment when something happens in an instant that changes everything in your life forever. It might be as transformative and huge as love at first sight or as destructive and small as breaking a front tooth. It might be the moment you hear you’ve won the lottery or the one where you get that diagnosis.
But the thing with a ‘click’ moment is it changes you, your perception of who you are and your ability to deal with things in life in the way you did before.
If you fall in love you have the instant burden of another’s happiness to maintain and if you broke that tooth it’s dealing with the fact your smile is no longer so attractive and people will look at you differently and treat you differently from now on because of it.
So why am I telling you all this?
Well, because of my own most profound ‘click’ moment in life, one that changed not just how I saw myself, how I dealt with things in life but – well – everything and forever. It kind of puts all the other ‘click’ moments, you, I or anyone else ever has into perspective.
It was the moment I realised I’d met an alien…

E.M. Swift-Hook

Maire was sitting quietly watching the darting forms of the iridescent blue dragonflies as they skimmed the slow-moving waters of the lazy little stream.

Of a sudden, the dragonflies scattered and the sound of marching feet and stamping hooves came to the girl’s ears.

She slipped into the undergrowth, then climbed into the concealing branches of a venerable oak tree.

The witchfinder passed within two manlengths of her hiding place, but his long nose never so much as twitched.

Marie made a sour face. The fools passed her by and wasted their steel on harmless old fools with cats…. 

©️jj 2019

From Transgressor Trilogy : Times of Change by E.M. Swift-Hook. You can listen to this on YouTube.

Outside it was dark and the air was cold. Ralik took a moment to find his charge since Zarengor was braced against the wall, his lean body almost invisible against the rough stonework.
“Don’t you have a home to go to?” The Black Vavasor’s voice sounded weary. “I am old enough to be out on my own, you know.”
Ralik said nothing. There was nothing to say. It was easy enough to understand the level of frustration that the other man had to contend with.
“Don’t you just love these Harkerans? They think themselves so civilised and superior – regard war as unreasonable, think a man who can write poetry or design a building is of more value than one who can use a sword, they regard their women as their equals in all things and even give legal rights to their slaves and their animals.” His voice was very slightly slurred betraying the amount of alcohol he had consumed. “But when it comes to good old-fashioned affairs of the heart, they are as quick as the next man to leap to the wrong conclusions and draw their blades.”
Ralik watched a group of young Harkeran noblemen leave the inn. They were obviously looking for something, or someone and two carried lights.
“It is getting late, Honoured One,” he said carefully. Zarengor, when drinking, could be persuaded but never pushed.
“Then you go home,” the other man suggested, his voice quite friendly, “I was thinking of finding another Harkeran matron of high standing to ravish, your Castellan’s wife perhaps.”
Ralik stiffened at the insult but said nothing, knowing it was deliberate, knowing Zarengor was goading him and knowing also it was the frustration and the drink that spoke through him. The Harkerans were getting closer and the mood Zarengor was in, it could easily end with blood on the street – their blood.
“Death of the gods, Ralik, what does someone have to do to get under your skin?” Zarengor sounded amused more than irritated.
The Harkerans had heard the voice if not the words and were moving now with intent. Ralik moved closer to his charge, who seemed to notice the threat for the first time and groaned aloud.
“Oh joy, children with swords and pistols. Just what I needed to make my day complete.”
The five young men, none of whom could have seen more than twenty summers, moved to confront them, throwing the burning torches to the ground and two of them had drawn swords, a third rested his hand on the butt of a finely crafted pistol. Zarengor still rested against the wall.
“Tell them I’m not hungry, Ralik, I have eaten enough babies today.”
“I’m more a man than you are, butcher,” the ring leader called out. Zarengor laughed briefly.
“Of course you are, that’s why you have your four friends with you. Brave child, go home to your mother and suckle some more then you might grow up big and strong one day.”
The Harkeran made a sound of incoherent fury and launched himself forward. Zarengor barely seemed to move away from the wall, his sword suddenly in his hand and cutting down through the youngster’s guard, drawing blood on his shoulder. The Harkeran stepped back, but found he could not escape the blade which seemed to be everywhere. Then as his sword went flying and he tried to jump aside, Ralik’s own blade came up and caught the death cut at the last moment and moved ready to parry again as the deadly blade disengaged.
“He is only a boy!” Ralik said the words urgently and ungently, part of his mind furious at Zarengor for allowing himself to drink to the point of such judgement loss and for the rest, afraid that he himself might now become a target for the feral sword. But the Vavasor seemed to come to himself, hesitating to attack through Ralik, and the youngsters took advantage of the moment to escape, disappearing into the darkness at speed.
For a moment, the two men stood facing each other, swords in their hands. Ralik waited with the point of his own blade towards the ground in a defensive gesture. He could not afford to surrender any advantage, Zarengor, drunk or not, was by far the superior swordsman. Then the Vavasor sighed and lowered his sword slowly.
“We should find the ponies,” he said heavily, sliding the blade back into its sheath. Ralik allowed himself to relax and stepped back carefully before putting his own sword away.

E.M. Swift-Hook.

Angie’s whoring years were coming to a close. Every morning she looked at the lines on her face with something like despair, and every evening she slipped into something slinky and slapped on a smile. 

The jobs still came, but they were mostly half-hour quickies with guys too mean to leave a tip.

The cowboy had about a yard of shoulders, and big, hard hands. All the girls sat up a bit straighter but he saw only Angie.

“Ma’am,” he said in his slow Texan drawl. “Would you?”

Thirty years later, he could still melt her with a smile.

©️jj 2019

The Rabid Readers Review ‘Last Fight of the Old Hound (Lost Dogs Book 1) by Nils Ödlund

Lycanthrope cage fighters, blood and, ultimately, death. Only that isn’t really what this book is about at all. It’s about decency being forced to bend the knee to corporate ambition.

One man and his wolf expected to throw their last fight.

What we have here is an exploration of duality, and of the twisting of decency to serve the purpose of expediency.

It’s handled with sensitivity and a certain good humour, making it easy reading.

A solid four stars.

Jane Jago

Science Fantasy Meets WWE

Roy van Waldenberger is an entertainer – but he entertains by fighting. He is also a therianthrope – a werewolf. But unlike the traditional idea of a lycanthrope he is very much in control of his wolf – most of the time. Roy is looking forward to winning a last big title then retiring. but then he learns that he is expected to throw the fight and that runs completely against the grain for the fighter once known as The Honest Man.

What I Really Enjoyed:
This is a fully a realised science fantasy setting and the feeling of depth and breadth is there right from the start when Roy wanders into a local bazaar. It is not over described it is carefully and cleverly woven into the story as part of a seamless fabric.
The characters are very convincing and well drawn. Roy is someone it is easy to empathise with and the relationship between himself and Jen is one of the most realistically presented cross-gender friendships I have ever read.
The author very cleverly introduces the way therianthropes are and how they fit into the world as a whole. These are not classic lycanthropes. Instead, it seems more of a symbiosis between the animal spirit and the human. I really liked this fresh take on an old notion.

What I Struggled With:
Two things – one a technical issue the other a bit of a story issue. One: the author had the bad habit of building tension brilliantly then putting in a paragraph of something that completely shattered the moment. Two: the possible responses to Roy being told to throw the fight were presented as a binary option when even I could think of at least three other ways the problem could have been tackled within the context of the story. Considering the amount of time Roy spent thinking about it and discussing it, and how incredibly significant it was to find some solution, I found that very hard to believe that no other ideas were even mooted.

Overall thoughts:
I really enjoyed this book and want to know how the story goes on. It had that feeling of real people caught up in a difficult situation with high stakes, set in a solid and fascinating world. If you enjoy well-written spec fic of any shade, I think this might well appeal. 4.5 stars, rounded up.

E.M. Swift-Hook

The tree bark was warm beneath simba jike’s belly, as she watched the two-legs try to herd water beasts into a flimsy corral. It wasn’t going well. She wondered at them, until it came to her that this was a hunt and the mtu mweupe with the bang stick was waiting for something. 

Even as she thought this, the king of all the mamba exploded from the water in pursuit of a young water beast.

Bang. Bang. The bang stick sounded.

They left him where he fell, and simba jike wondered if there was good eating on a mamba.

©️jj 2019

Dying to be Roman by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook is a whodunit set in a modern day Britain where the Roman Empire still rules. You can listen to this on YouTube. If you missed previous episodes you can start reading from the beginning.

Julia Lucia Maxilla stood up to her full four feet and eleven inches and stared at her co-investigator. She saw a tall, handsome man with black hair, pale skin and a square jawline. He glared down at her, and she was surprised by the blueness of his eyes. Her dogs came to lean against her, and this would have alerted her to the idea the man wasn’t precisely pleased to see her if her own intuition hadn’t already made that clear.
“Llewellyn, is it?” she kept her voice cool.
Behind him she could see another man trying to blend into the wall.
“Yes, domina.”
“If we are going to work together, I think we can dispense with such formality. The name is Julia.”
“Julia,” he hesitated fractionally, “I’m Dai Llewellyn. This is Decanus Bryn Cartivel, and is it permitted to ask what those dogs are?”
Julia decided to let the hesitation pass. She summoned a smile.
“Canis and Lupo are wolfhounds,” she turned and indicated the huge Saxon who stood at her shoulder. “The dogs and Edbert guard me. In case you missed it, I’m not very big so if I need to intimidate somebody they help with that too.”
For a moment the Briton actually grinned, then he must have remembered whatever grievance was wearing at him and he started looking sulky again. Julia sighed inwardly. He was going to be difficult and that was a shame because he was really, really pretty. Before she got chance to snap his handsome nose off for him, he surprised her by holding out a hand to Edbert.
“Greetings.”
Edbert actually grasped his wrist and the two tall men stood eye to eye for a moment.
“You play nicely with my lady. I don’t want to have to hurt you.”
Her bodyguard spoke rarely, and when he did his uncomfortably deep voice always reminded Julia of a thunderstorm in some far valley. She winced inwardly, rather wishing he hadn’t chosen to speak now, and was surprised to hear a thread of amusement in the Briton’s response.
“You can be sure I’ll bear that in mind.”
“If you two have finished bonding, I have a visit to make.” Julia turned a carefully blank face to Dai. “You had better come with me. Edbert and your decanus can take a break.”
He frowned.
“Does it pertain to the investigation?”
“No. And yes. It’s a duty visit to the Tribune. The Prefect is just a time server and she’s a complete waste of time as far as I can see. The Tribune is a different matter. Aside from policy, he and I have known each other since we were children.”
“Since you were children?” Llewellyn frowned. “But wasn’t the Tribune born in the Suburra? I heard he was raised in the insulae at the foot of the Capitoline Hills before he was adopted.”
“He was. And so was I. Any questions?”
Dai shut his mouth with a snap. Julia could all but hear him thinking, and took pity on him. It would make little sense to a Briton, who was no doubt raised on TV crime dramas which featured the poverty and criminality of the poorest slum area in Rome, that someone from that place could be in any position of influence or power.
“My father was a soldier, but my mother was a lupa, I think you use the term ‘whore’. My father was killed when he was twenty, in a border skirmish with the Mongol Empire, my mother died soon after of an occupational disease – she succumbed to morbus insu, an STD. I was raised by my father’s family who took me in because I was his only child and I think they wanted something to remember him by.”
“Oh. But how did -?”
“How did I get to be an inquisitor? A long story. And mostly painful, so can we leave it?” She essayed a smile and her new colleague managed a half grin in response. Julia looked at him more closely.
“Your tunic,” she said severely, “is pretty grubby. That fish sauce must be days old. Do you have another?”
He nodded, wearing the expression of a schoolboy caught cheating in a class test.
“Good. Decimus is a fussy blighter. We’ll swing past yours on the way.”

Once Dai was tidied to her satisfaction, Julia led the way to the Tribune’s apartment, which backed onto the barracks housing the cohort of Praetorians that were stationed in Londinium under the Tribune’s command.
“There was a reason I didn’t bring Edbert and the hounds,” Julia admitted.
Dai raised an eyebrow.
“The Lady Lydia don’t like them.”
Dai grinned tautly.
“If rumour is correct, she isn’t seeing people right now.”
Julia treated him to a quick, incurious, glance.
“Oh. Who?”
“One Titillicus. Inquisitor and nasty piece of work. Sent home to his mother in a body bag.”
“Oh. Whoops.” Julia frowned. “Why doesn’t she realise he is never going to divorce her?”

Dai looked down at her, his expression suggesting a genuine curiosity.
“Is she stupid?”
“Probably…”
“I always think bed-hoppers must be the lowest of the low,” Dai told her. “If you can betray your avowed spouse, you are not going to find it too hard to do the dirty in other ways.”
Julia smiled, pleased that they were beginning to find common ground in their values. It eased the conversation as they waited for the Man himself.

Part IV will be here next Sunday. If you can’t wait to find what happens next you can snag the full novella here.

It was a trifling thing. A handmade fan. Out of place among the costly claustrophobia of her existence. 

And yet. To carry it would change her life.

If she was brave.

The young scholar who laid his heart at her feet could offer none of the material magnificence she had become accustomed to, though he was handsome enough to dent her heart and clever enough to go far. With the right woman at his side. 

Wei decided that woman would be her and she carried his paper fan with as much pride as if it was the most precious jade.

©️jj 2019

A chicken with an aching bum
Sits on duck eggs to be mum
All her friends think she is mad
Having ducklings with no dad
But she don’t care she isn’t moody
She’s just feeling fat and broody
Poor old girl don’t give a f%$&
If she gets a fluffy duck

©jj